after that, so I have to be home before he leaves. But that also means I don’t have to be anywhere for another twelve days.” She planted her backside a little more firmly on the chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are. You left your dad with eight hundred confused guests filling the bed-and-breakfasts in town, waiting to see if you’re okay, not to mention one very disoriented fiancé. You’re not dodging the damage control.”
She rose from her seat. “I didn’t want the eight hundred guests. Charles did. I didn’t want the wedding reception at the vineyard. That was my dad’s handiwork. I picked out the dress and my bouquet.” Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears and the emotions that had hit her as she walked down the aisle spiraled through her again. The betrayal. The sense of stupidity for trusting Charles. The sense of stupidity for being so trusting—period.
She very quickly said, “If you’ll excuse me,” turned and headed back to her cluster of new friends, not willing to let this stranger see her cry. Damn it. She’d thought she’d worked through all this in the plane.
She raised her chin. She had dealt with all this on the commuter flight to JFK, while shopping for clothes to change into in the big airport and on the flight to Vegas. That reaction to talking about her wedding was simply a release of stress. She was not unhappy that she’d left Charles. She seriously didn’t care that her dad’s life had been inconvenienced. She’d told them and told them and told them that she wanted a small wedding. No one listened, and eventually she’d let it drop. Because that’s what she’d done since she was twelve, when her mom had died and she suddenly became lady of the house.
Not old enough to really know what to do, she’d taken her father’s advice on everything. That had become such a habit she didn’t even realize she’d let him pick the man she’d marry. For as much as her dad had nudged her in Charles’s direction with frequent dinners at their home and trips to London, Ireland and Monaco that coincided with trips Charles was taking, her dad had also groomed Charles to be his son-in-law.
They’d seemed like the ultimate power couple until Charles’s best man mentioned that fact at the rehearsal-dinner toast. Even he’d seen how Charles had been groomed and all Morgan had to do was wait until her father’s creation was finished to have the perfect man to add to their two-person family.
The crowd had laughed, but her chest had pressed inward, squeezing all the air from her lungs. His toast, no matter how lighthearted, had a ring of truth to it. No. More like a gong of truth. A whole Mormon Tabernacle Choir of truth.
And Charles’s response when she’d confronted him after the dinner? He’d needed her dad’s help. If marrying her was the price, he’d pay it.
When she’d gasped, he’d said he didn’t mean that the way it sounded. He loved her. She was beautiful. Wonderful. A woman so perfect she was more like a reward, not a price. He was sorry his explanation had come out all wrong.
For the hours that had passed between the toast and her trip down the aisle, she’d believed that.
But there was something about walking toward her destiny, dressed in all white, looking sweet and innocent while perpetuating something that felt very much like fraud, that caused her feet to stop, her heart to break. Her dad had controlled everything in her life, from where she’d gone to school to how she dressed and who she’d invite to their gatherings. The man she spent the rest of her life with would be her choice.
“You okay?” Mary, the lead waitress for the afternoon shift, studied her as she walked back to her little investment group beside the last row of slots.
She sucked in a breath and smiled. “I’m fine.” She was fine. Though Charles was history, she wasn’t writing off her dad completely. This was a hiccup in their relationship. A time for her to take a breath, sort out what she wanted, maybe come up with some new rules for how she and her dad would relate. Then she would go back to Lake Justice. Then they would talk.
And no gorgeous Spaniard with a sexy voice was taking her back before she was ready.
RICCARDO STAYED AT the two-person table in the bar. From the raised vantage point, he could see Morgan as she counseled her little band of friends. She was a lot stronger than he’d imagined. He didn’t want to admire her for it. It was his job to bring her home. But he had to admit to a twinge of respect that she could hold her own. Which was good. He didn’t want to feel like he was riding roughshod over her by forcing her onto the plane. He wanted her to see the error of her ways and go home voluntarily to do her duty to her ex. That was more than Cicely had done for him.
He winced. Seriously. He had to stop comparing the two. At least Cicely had talked to him two days before their wedding and been honest. Morgan had just run. She’d embarrassed her groom. Embarrassed her dad. Shocked her guests. And now she wanted to give stock seminars?
Okay. That did speak to her state of mind. Ignoring something wasn’t always a sign of indifference. Maybe she wasn’t ready to handle it yet.
Who was he? Doctor Phil? It was not his job to fix her, just to get her home.
Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to keep her mental state in mind as he guided her to see the error of her ways and agree to come back home with him.
That’s what Mitch would do. And Mitch was their people person.
When the small group broke up, Riccardo glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes had gone by. Their flight left in an hour and a half. But it was a short ride to the airport. Of course, he should probably add packing time in there. He might not have luggage, but she did.
Or maybe not.
She’d run from the ceremony, jumped into her car and had gotten to Lake Justice’s small municipal airport in a matter of minutes. She’d caught the commuter flight that just happened to be leaving for JFK International, and that’s why they’d lost her. The plane had taken off as her dad’s people were pulling in to the small airport parking lot.
He could imagine her arriving at Kennedy in her gown, stopping at the first shop she saw and buying some jeans, T-shirts and those superspiffy canvas tennis shoes.
He laughed into his beer before he finished it in one long swallow. He seriously doubted she would want to take home any of the clothes she’d bought if they were anything like what she was wearing now. But he would be more sensitive, more Mitch-like, when he approached her this time.
Except she’d better not call him Marco Polo again. Marco Polo wasn’t even Spanish.
The group dispersed. Morgan took a seat at the last slot machine. She pulled her comp card out of her jeans pocket, inserted it into the poker machine and started playing.
Riccardo rose, tossed a few bills on the bar table and ambled over to her. He sat on the seat of the empty machine beside hers. “So... Our flight leaves in an hour and a half. I know it’s a short ride to the airport, but we do have to go through security.”
“Your flight leaves in an hour and a half.”
“Our flight. You’re coming with me. You’re too nice of a woman to leave your groom upset and wondering what the hell happened.”
“I seriously doubt Charles is upset. We’d had a disagreement
